


Just a Small Bump

by GypsyUpir



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, One Shot, Possible Miscarriage, Pregnant Peter Rumancek, Pregnant Roman Godfrey, Unplanned Pregnancy, Upir, Werewolf, mention of infertility, twins!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-01-02 01:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21153149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyUpir/pseuds/GypsyUpir
Summary: A series of Romancek mpreg one-shots!





	1. Unexpectedly

**Author's Note:**

> So...my imagination is trying to kill me. Amidst writing the “Rainbow Child” prequel, I was thinking of ideas for a sequel, and I realized I had WAY too many different ideas that I didn’t necessarily want to include in the RC universe, so I decided a series of one-shots would be better instead!
> 
> Bottom line, we NEED more Romancek mpreg. I’m just saying.

Peter knew he was pregnant the minute he conceived. He could just..._ feel _it. 

Roman teased him all the time, saying he had “heightened wolf-man senses” whenever he’d hear something from far away or catch a whiff of a smell no one else noticed. Peter would always respond with an annoyed grumble and a roll of his eyes, which only seemed to egg Roman on. 

He embraced the joshing, secretly finding it kind of cute that they had their own little inside joke.

But the six positive pregnancy tests he had lined up on the bathroom counter were no joke at all.

He stood there silently, gnawing at the skin of his thumb as he eyed each test individually. Every result stood out to him clearly, the probability of “false positive” seeming less and less likely the longer he looks at them. 

Absently, his other hand comes to rest on his middle.

_ Shit,_ he thinks.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Had they talked about having kids? Yes. Had they even gone so far as to try to get pregnant? Yeah, about a year ago, with no dice. 

Roman’s interest in having children was shocking enough to Peter, much less his desire to give birth himself. He could still remember their discussion so clearly, as if no time had passed at all.

“What do you think about babies?” Roman had randomly asked during dinner one night, pushing the food on his plate around with a fork instead of eating it.

The question didn’t immediately strike Peter as odd or implicative of something. He considered it for a moment before shrugging and taking another bite of his meatloaf.

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “They’re pretty cool, I guess.”

Roman quirked up an eyebrow. “Cool?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “I mean, I haven’t been around them much, but I like them alright.”

Roman was silent for a beat or two before going back to messing up his plate. Peter looked at him then, the unusualness of the subject finally catching up to him.

“What?” Peter asked.

Roman gave a quick shrug of his shoulders without looking up. “Nothing… It was just a question.”

“Oh, bullshit, it was! You’re fishing, what do you want?” Peter said with a laugh, which made Roman’s cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. The humor Peter found in the conversation was now gone as he saw this, his stomach sinking as a realization came to him.

“Roman? What is it?”

Roman just quickly shook his head and glanced up at Peter with a sheepish smile. “I already told you. It’s nothing.”

Peter reached across the table and set his hand over Roman’s wrist, a sense of panic rising in his chest. “Roman, if there’s something we need to talk about--”

“There isn’t,” Roman insisted. “I was literally just asking.”

“But _ why _?” Peter pressed. 

Roman’s gaze was practically burning a hole into the dining room table and the silence between them was beginning to make Peter’s stomach cramp up. Finally, Roman’s eyes shot up to meet his and they gleamed with the shine of potential tears.

“I… I think I wanna have one,” Roman said quietly.

Peter stared at him blankly for a second, a shot of ice blasting through his veins as the words sunk in. 

“What?”

Taking in a deep breath, Roman exhaled slowly before speaking again. “I wanna have a baby, Peter,” he said, his voice much stronger in its conviction. 

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t form the words. He and Roman talked about everything; they withheld no feeling or truth from each other. Yet somehow, this revelation felt like a formidable secret that had been kept from him, something he utterly couldn’t believe upon hearing.

He shook his head slowly, still trying to process what Roman just said. Roman watched him and shifted in his seat with unease, a burning hot dread creeping up into his cheeks. They’d never really discussed the possibility of children before, and honestly, Roman never imagined he would actually want them. 

But all of that seemed to change when he met Peter. He’d fallen in love practically when they met and he wanted him in every way a person could want another, including creating a family of their own. 

He supposed they already were a family, though it was just the two of them, but Roman had always been the type to want more. 

That and...he really didn’t have much family of his own to begin with. Being with Peter filled him with so much love and longing, it almost entirely consumed him. He had much too much to give to just one person. 

Peter’s stunned silence finally unnerved Roman enough for him to speak again. 

“Please, Peter. Can we just...talk about it, at least?”

At this, Peter readily agreed and the family-starting discussion began from there. They started actually trying for a baby shortly after and, despite their determination, months went by without any luck. 

Each attempt proved to be futile and Roman lost his optimism, little by little. His temperament was fragile anyway, as he didn’t take well to not getting his way, but his string of perceived failures changed him into something else entirely. 

Before Peter’s eyes, a sadness slowly began to fill Roman with every negative pregnancy test, eventually sinking him into a hole of hopelessness he couldn’t climb out of. There was nowhere for him to go but down, and he dug himself deeper until his dejection turned into hostility. 

He grew to resent his own body for not doing what he so desperately wanted it to do. At one point, he claimed, and truly believed, that his inability to fall pregnant was retribution for being the “monster” he was.

Finally, Peter put his foot down and forced Roman to lay his desire for a child to rest. He wasn’t killing the idea outright; after much debate, he’d found himself wanting to start a family just as much Roman did. But he wasn’t about to do it at the cost of their happiness.

Roman forfeited the battle easily, admitting that it had all started to become too much and he was emotionally exhausted. The subject had been dropped for the time being, and hadn’t been touched once the last five months. 

But, apparently, Peter had picked it back up. 

Though it was what they both wanted, Peter couldn’t help but feel that he had betrayed Roman somehow. Over half a year, they’d had sex countless times and in every position Peter could think of, and still Roman couldn’t get pregnant. Peter didn’t even _ want _ to be pregnant and _ bing, bang, boom. _ A bottom _ \- _beginner’s luck, he supposed. 

The thought of breaking the news to Roman made him want to vomit. What if he did feel betrayed? It broke his heart to think he was denying Roman this pregnancy. Peter never intended to take something so important from him, he had to know that.

An even bigger question he had was if Roman even still _ wanted _ a baby. Nothing had been said in months, how was Peter to know for sure?

The sudden sound of Roman’s voice behind him breaks into his concentration too late and he startles with the dreaded notion that he doesn't have any more time to ponder his worries. 

“Peter?” Roman repeats his name as he steps into the bathroom. “You okay?”

Peter bites down hard on a knuckle as he turns to look at Roman, the wide concern in his eyes enough to make Peter’s bones shake. With a heavy sigh, Peter moves his body away from the counter to give Roman a clear view of the tests and turns away so he won’t have to see his reaction. 

Slowly, Roman makes his way to the counter, his brow creased in confusion as he takes in the scene before him. Carefully, he picks up one of the tests and holds it up close to his face, his eyes concentrating hard on the positive result.

Peter hears the air deflate from Roman’s lungs in a huff and his cheeks catch fire. _ Here it comes... _

“Wha… What?” Roman finally says, his voice strangely small. “What is this?” 

“I guess I’m pregnant,” Peter replies quietly, shrinking inside himself. 

A heavy silence surrounds them as Roman then picks up and studies every single test. Peter’s heart beats wildly in his chest, thudding heavier against his ribcage as each quiet second passes. Then, the test falls back onto the countertop as both of Roman’s hands come to cover his face, his shoulders trembling as he begins to sob.

Peter’s stomach drops into his toes as his own tears threaten to break free. How could he have done this? How could he have hurt Roman in this way? Way to make him feel like even more of a worthless failure. He knew there was nothing he could possibly say, but words spewed from him before he even knew what they were. He just couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“God, Roman, I’m... I’m so sorry,” Peter chokes out. “I didn’t fucking want this, you know? I wanted to give you a baby, but I never intended for it to happen this way, I’m sorry! I don’t know how I--”

The rest of Peter’s words are cut off by Roman’s chaste kiss. Peter freezes on the spot as Roman’s arms wrap around him and pull him close, his lips pressing hungirly against Peter’s cheek and navigating down his neck. Peter’s shocked, gaping stare is then met with the most joyous expression he’s ever seen on Roman’s face.

“What the _ fuck _ are you apologizing for??” Roman sniffs with a laugh through his tears. He gingerly rubs a hand over Peter’s still-flat stomach. “You _ are _ giving me a baby.”


	2. I Can’t Take Back the Words I Never Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman harbors a secret pregnancy after Peter skips town, and Dr. Pryce is worried.

As he ran the ultrasound probe with painstaking precision over Roman’s expanding abdomen, Dr. Pyce couldn’t help but feel sad.

Well, perhaps “sad” wasn’t the correct word, but the situation unsettled him nonetheless. It wasn’t so much the fact that he’d been put in charge of treating the man who was, technically, his boss. He’d been put in similar situations many times throughout the course of his career. 

It flattered him, really. His expertise must’ve been trusted on some level. 

But from an emotional standpoint, this one weighed more heavily on him. He’d known Roman since he was born, and he couldn’t help but sympathize. 

Roman was approximately 21 weeks pregnant, as of today, and he was completely alone. 

As Pryce meticulously took the baby’s measurements on the screen, he got a clear view of the gender. He glanced over at Roman, who watched the baby’s movements with the most hopeless expression Pryce had ever seen. 

What plans Roman had for himself and this child, Pryce had no idea. It had only been briefly discussed once, after the pregnancy had been confirmed. Pryce simply suggested a few options, and at the mention of abortion, Roman immediately threw up and refused to talk about it anymore. Pryce knew better to just let the subject lie.

So, he had to assume that Roman aimed to keep it. But even now, Roman carries on as he always has, never bringing up the baby and seemingly ignoring the now noticeable changes to his body. He didn’t bring attention to it and he didn’t want anyone else to either. It was his own dirty little secret. 

And, knowing the truth of the baby’s lineage, Pryce understood perfectly why it would be. 

Pryce found the baby’s fluttering heartbeat and turned up the machine’s volume so Roman could hear it. After only a few seconds, he saw something is Roman’s stoic face crack before he promptly turned it away from the screen. 

“Heart rate is 130 beats per minute. Measurements from crown to rump is about ten and a half inches, perfect for 21 weeks gestation,” Pryce explains, though he isn’t sure Roman is even listening. He clears his throat. “Would you like to know the sex?”

Roman’s face falls in contemplation, for just a second, but he ultimately shakes his head “no”. 

“Very well,” Pryce says, freezing the baby’s image on the screen and removing the probe from Roman’s stomach. He wipes off the head of the probe with a cloth towel before rubbing the remaining goo off of Roman’s middle. 

Roman sits up on the examination table and fixes his gaze to the image of his child, his eyes going shiny like glass. Pryce watches him carefully, the question he so wants to ask hanging just barely off the tip of his tongue. He believes he knows the answer already, but he voices it anyway.

“Have you heard from him?” Pryce asks.

Roman doesn’t acknowledge that he even spoke, but the pooling of tears on his eyelids tells Pryce that he heard every word. 

After a few beats of silence, Roman clears his throat. “Why the fuck would I hear from him?”

Pryce gave a quick shrug of his shoulders, then turned and stood tall before Roman with his arms crossed. “It was just a question.”

Their eyes meet, and Roman practically shrinks under Pryce’s hard stare. He bites into his lower lip when it begins to tremble and averts his eyes elsewhere. 

“And no… I haven’t called him either,” Roman says sharply. “I don’t know why I should.”

“Well, you are carrying his baby, for one,” Pryce retorts. 

“Like he’d give a shit,” Roman snorts with a huff. 

Though he tries to put on a tough front, Pryce can see right through Roman’s exterior and how deeply the pain of Peter Rumancek’s absence truly runs. 

Though Roman hadn’t explicitly told him Peter was the baby’s father, he didn’t deny it when questioned. It was an easy enough puzzle for Pryce to construct. The connection between the two boys was both peculiar and yet not peculiar at all to him. Though it sounded grossly cliche to call it “fate”, that’s exactly what he would call it. 

And now that fate had been tampered with, everything was all wrong. He didn’t know what had happened between Roman and Peter and he had never asked despite the growing inclination he had to. It was apparent to him that Roman was still deeply wounded by it and he didn’t want to open yet another can of worms. 

But, no matter what Peter had done or Roman had done, the hippocratic part of Pryce still believed Peter should know about the baby. He’d tried, in his own roundabout way, to indicate this to Roman, but his concerns fell on deaf ears. Even if they hadn’t, you couldn’t  _ make _ Roman Godfrey do anything. 

Roman doesn’t say anything, his eyes once again gravitating toward the baby’s frozen profile on the ultrasound screen. In one brisk motion, he rolls his undershirt back over the mound of his belly.

“What the fuck do you care, anyway?” Roman narrows his eyes, the malice in his voice sounding more sad than angry. 

“I don’t,” Pryce says. “I just think it’s fair to take into consideration how  _ you _ would feel, given the shoe was on the other foot.” 

Roman gave him a hard look then, but only for a moment before forcing himself to look elsewhere. Pryce felt the slightest bit of satisfaction in that, knowing Roman was calculating his words.

“ _ How _ would you feel, Roman?” Pryce inquires. “Wouldn’t you want Peter to give you the courtesy of at least  _ knowing _ ?”

“Look, if he wanted to be found, he would’ve told me where he was going!” Roman snaps, nearly shoving Pryce out of the way as he forces himself up off of the examination table and onto his feet. 

He stomps over to the other side of the office and begins to angrily pace. Pryce stands back and watches him calmly.

“Be that as it may,” Pryce began with a sigh. “The boy has a right to know that he’s fathered a child.”

“ _ Does _ he??” Roman shrills, whipping around to face him. “Did he give me the ‘courtesy’ of telling me he was leaving?? No! He just fucking left! He  _ left me _ , Pryce! And now, I’m just supposed to forget all of that and let bygones be fucking bygones because I’m having...”

The outburst stops there as Roman has to physically stop the tears in his eyes from spilling over. He sniffs roughly a couple of times and quickly swipes at his lashes. 

“It wouldn’t matter, anyway,” he spits in a whisper. “Even if I did tell him and he did come back, he’d run off eventually. That’s what he does.”

He glances up and the mournful look in his eyes is enough to make something in Pryce’s heart clench. 

“He’s already abandoned  _ me _ … What right do I have to let him do that to a kid?”

The two stand there silently for a moment, staring at each other with measured weariness. Pryce sighs, defeated, and Roman’s stature deflates as if he’s just been hit with a wave of exhaustion.

“I see,” Pryce says simply. “Understandable, I admit. But, hypothetically, if he were to come back someday…” 

“He won’t,” Roman shakes his head, a new wall of tears building up in his eyes. “Trust me.”

Roman looks away, embarrassed, as a tear breaks free and runs down his cheek. The level of emotion in the room is finally high enough to make Pryce uncomfortable. 

Dutifully, he straightens his tie and jacket and turns to leave the room. He barely has the door open when Roman’s wavering voice stops him. 

“Pryce?”

Pryce turns to look at Roman, his brow lifted curiously. “Yes?”

“What is it?” Roman asks anxiously, his hands gently encircling his small, round stomach. “The baby, I mean.”

The corner of Pryce’s mouth pulls up into a tiny smile. 

“It’s a girl.”

The way Roman’s face immediately lights up fills him with an odd sense of relief, letting him know for certain that in a few months time, Roman wouldn’t be alone any longer. 


	3. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this basically a rip-off of Bella’s pregnancy in “Breaking Dawn”? Yes. 
> 
> Do I have no shame? Also, yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the chapter title: If you haven’t, listen to the song “Cold” by Aqualung and Lucy Schwartz. It’s from the “Breaking Dawn” soundtrack and it’s beautiful and heartbreaking. Perfectly sums up the devastation of the situation.

If it weren’t for the resonating silence of the house, Roman might not have even known it was raining. 

His weary, hollow gaze peers out the big window that overlooks the driveway as he sits at the top of the stairs, watching as fat raindrops splash hard against the glass. Absently, he wonders what time it is, what _ day _. He supposed it was still day time, despite the cloud cover darkening the sky. He decided it didn’t really matter; time didn’t have meaning anymore.

The echoing footsteps from the hallway alerted him to Destiny’s presence and he turns to look at her as she makes her way to him. Their eyes meet, the two of them sharing in their exhaustion and, in recent days, hopelessness. They each wore the hardship of the past few weeks like a withering mask, with seemingly no relief in sight. 

“I had to put in an IV. He’s severely dehydrated from yesterday,” Destiny sighs wearily. “He’s asleep now so...we’ll see how he does.”

Roman gives a short nod before scooting over so she can sit next to him. She practically collapses on the step, folding her arms over her knees and resting her head upon them like a pillow. Much like Roman, she fights the growing desire to sleep, knowing she needs it, but fearing what will happen if she gives in. She couldn’t risk missing an emergency. 

“You hungry?” Roman asks absently.

“Not really,” she replies. 

She was actually starving, but any thought of food made her stomach quake with nausea. It was the price of unmitigated exhaustion, she knew, but she couldn’t make herself eat. Her better instincts told her that both she and Roman needed to take care of themselves first so they could be their best for Peter. 

But rationality was quickly proving to be losing its power over them. They didn’t know _ what _ to do anymore.

Roman then reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket, fishing out a stick for each of them and lighting them individually. They puff in solemn silence, keeping their ears perked for any inkling of distress from the master bedroom where Peter was uneasily slumbering.

Steadily blowing smoke out of his mouth, Roman ran a rough hand through his hair and sighed deeply. 

“How is he? Tell me the truth.”

She is quiet for a second, acting almost as if she didn’t hear the question as she takes a long drag off of her cigarette.

“There might not be much more I can do for him, Roman,” she finally says.

Hot tears began to pool in her eyes and she hastily sniffed them away. She couldn’t let it get to her, not yet. She was needed far too much to fall apart now.

“He’s dying, isn’t he?” Roman asks, turning to the window to watch the rainfall.

Destiny lets the tears silently fall down here cheeks. “It’s starting to look that way.” 

Roman angrily flicks the remainder of his cigarette onto the step and stomps it out, popping up from his seat and heading down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“Roman!” Destiny calls after him, but he ignores her. 

He throws open the bedroom door and Peter immediately jumps awake at the sound, looking around the room in a daze. 

The very sight of him still fills Roman with dread. His once muscular body had slowly deteriorated him to little more than bone, covered in milky white skin that used to be a golden tan from the summer sun. He was so frail now, so small, except for the hugely pregnant swell of his abdomen.

Peter’s dark, hollow eyes glance up at Roman, a weak smile spreading across his face. 

“Hey, you,” he says. Even his voice sounded fragile.

Roman’s shaking knees carried him to where Peter lied sunken into the seemingly gigantic mattress. He sat down on the edge of the bed and forced himself to look at Peter, but could only stomach it for a couple of seconds. His eyes shot down to the floor as he spoke.

“Hey, yourself,” he chokes out. “How are you feeling?”

Mindful of the IV in his arm, Peter strains to shift from his side onto his back, wincing with obvious discomfort as he does so. Roman carefully grabs onto the narrow bones of his hips and helps him settle.

“Better now,” Peter answers, rubbing a hand down the side of his belly. 

“Good,” Roman says tightly. His eyes finally fall upon Peter, and he feels every ounce of his will to fight leave him at once as he sees how worn down and haggard Peter looks.

Maybe now wasn’t the time for this; he was too distraught, too tired. They both were. His angry words hung from the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t force them out. What he had to say would only hurt Peter and he couldn’t bear the thought of doing that, no matter what intentions he had when he first came into the room. 

He begins to stand up. “I’m sorry I woke you. Just go back to sleep.”

“No, don’t go,” Peter moans, throwing out a hand to catch Roman’s. “Stay with me a little bit. Please? I’m sick of being in here alone. God, you guys act like I have the fucking plague or something.” 

Roman bit the inside of his cheek, trying to stop himself from screaming. He took in a deep breath to calm himself, making a conscious effort now to avoid looking at Peter. 

Guilt gnaws at Roman’s insides as he slowly sits back down. “Sorry… We just want you to rest.”

“I’m _ fine _,” Peter insists, his voice growing stronger with his conviction. “Besides, I think you’re the one who needs rest. No offense, babe, but you look like hammered shit.”

Roman snorts. “I appreciate that, thank you.”

Peter shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep that ego in check, Godfrey.”

They both began to laugh and, for a second, things feel almost normal; Roman couldn’t remember the last time the two of them laughed together. But the moment is fleeting, and all too soon, the two of them gaze at each other, a dark cloud seeming to pass over them as their reality sets back in.

Peter’s dull eyes blink at Roman slowly and he lets out a tired sigh. “Don’t look so worried, Roman. I’m gonna be okay.”

Roman lets out another snort of a laugh, but it’s not in any way humorous. “That’s the thing, Peter. You’re not gonna be okay. I know it, Destiny knows it...and _ you _ know it.”

“I don’t know that, actually,” Peter retorts, folding his arms over his bulbous stomach. “I mean, I know I was pretty sick yesterday, but I feel alright today. And, who knows, I might feel even better tomorrow. I’m pretty strong, you know.” 

Roman’s eyes skirt over Peter’s emaciated body. “Yeah. You _ were _.” 

Peter lets out an annoyed sigh as his hard gaze settles on Roman. Roman braces himself, as he knows the fight in Peter is about to come out, just as it has every time Roman has attempted to have this conversation with him.

“Peter—”

“Roman, stop. I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, you do? I just assumed by the obvious lack of regard for any of my thoughts and opinions that you had no idea how I felt,” Roman snaps. “I see now that you do, you just don’t care.”

“We’ve been over this…”

“Yeah, well, let’s go over it again, because I don’t fucking get it!” Roman bites, forcing himself to look away so Peter can’t see the angry tears that immediately spring up in his eyes. But, just his luck, Peter notices them and feels himself soften. He never liked to see Roman cry. 

He reaches over to gently grab Roman’s hand and Roman immediately shivers at the shocking chill of Peter’s skin. It was almost as if death had already crept into him; perhaps it had.

Roman looks at Peter with wide, flooded eyes. “Why are you doing this, Peter? Can you tell me that?”

Peter’s gaunt face blanches at the question before he sorrowfully lowers his head. Roman quickly swipes at a stray tear that escapes down his cheek. 

“Why?” Roman urges, his breath shaking. “Why are you risking your life for this...this…_ thing _?”

“_ Baby _,” Peter emphasizes, looking back up at Roman with his eyes cut into slits.

“That’s not a baby, Peter,” Roman hisses. “Look what it’s doing to you! It’s a monster.”

At Roman’s words, Peter’s face painfully contorts as if he’s just been slapped. He releases his hold on Roman’s hand to rest both palms protectively over his belly. 

“How can you say that?”

“You _ know _ how! Destiny _ saw _what that thing is, and… it’s just like me.”

Peter’s chin wobbles violently as his body seems to shrink into itself, as if trying to shield himself from the truth Roman was speaking. 

“But you’re not a monster,” he whispers tearfully. 

“We both know that’s not true.”

“You’re _ not _!” Peter yells. “And neither is he!”

Roman jumps up from the bed as if he’s been touched with a hot poker. He animalistically begins to pace about the room, knowing this latest effort to make Peter see reason is on a fast track to failure, like all the attempts before. He didn’t know what to say to him to make him understand, or if there was anything that could be said to snap him out of his denial. 

It was futile, Roman feared, but he couldn’t give up. To give up would be to sentence Peter to death. 

Peter was crying now, and it tore Roman’s heart to shreds. 

“I don’t understand,” Peter wept. “I thought this was what we wanted! We said we were gonna start a family, Roman, and that’s what we’re doing!”

Roman whipped around to face him, trying and failing to keep his emotions in check.

“Not at the expense of _ you _!!” Roman shrills. “Don’t you see what’s happening? You’re dying, Peter! It’s killing you from the inside.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut as he cries, finally letting himself feel all the pain and the fear he’s been bottling up for so long. 

Roman was right, of course; he was dying. He could feel it. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore. It didn’t even feel human at this point. He felt more like a shell of a person, a silhouette of who he used to be. 

And with each passing day, it only got worse. As the baby grew, he became weaker, and though he’d fought like hell to save face in the beginning, it had become too much. 

None of them could have predicted this is what would happen. The pregnancy was relatively normal during the first trimester, with irregular morning sickness being the only real plague he had to suffer through. 

Overall, Peter had felt really quite good, and the baby appeared to be developing right on track. He and Roman let themselves get excited about starting the family they’d been talking about for so long. 

But then, when Peter entered his second trimester, everything changed. It started out small, with the sickness coming back periodically throughout the day whenever Peter tried to eat something. To Destiny, it appeared to be nothing more than a stomach virus that would run its course in a few days.

Then, eventually, it became almost constant and Peter could barely keep anything down. Little by little, he forced himself to eat, caring more about the baby getting sustenance than himself, but he’d always overdo it and throw everything in his system back up. 

The rapidity of the weight loss became so severe that his hair started falling out and his muscle deterioration made his belly appear much larger than it really was. In just a couple of weeks, he’d dropped nearly 25 pounds.

As his condition worsened, he and Roman agonized over the baby’s health and found themselves calling Destiny almost daily to come over to examine him. Like them, she was frustrated as nothing during her examinations gave an indication of what was causing Peter’s deterioration. 

Then, just three weeks ago, Peter started throwing up blood. 

Roman called Destiny in hysterics and she rushed over, a nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her this was Peter’s death blow. She had just started to examine him when her hand came in contact with the blood, and she was struck with a vision that nearly brought her to her knees.

She could see everything so clearly then, peering right inside of Peter’s body at the growing child - a boy. The baby looked healthier than ever, thriving in spite of Peter’s cadaverous state.

Something caught her eye, however, as the baby’s profile came into focus. Covering his face was a thick, webby membrane, and suddenly Peter’s plight made perfect sense. 

This baby was upir. And Peter’s body wasn’t compatible. 

Roman hit the roof, demanding that immediate action be taken, but all pleads of reason fell on deaf ears. Nothing could be said to sway Peter. 

Upir, werewolf, or neither, he wanted his child, and everything in him willed him to keep up the fight. His protective instincts turned feral, barely allowing Roman or even Destiny to touch him. Nothing else seemed to matter to him anymore. He’d sacrifice it all, even his own life, to protect his son. 

So, helplessly, Roman and Destiny were forced to spend the past few weeks watching Peter waste away, giving all to a child he most likely wouldn’t survive to meet. Roman knew their time was running out and he had maybe one last chance to fight for Peter’s life. 

Roman drops to his knees then, coming to Peter’s bedside and forcing him to meet his eyes. 

“Peter...is it worth it? All of this sickness, all of your suffering...is it?” Roman’s voice trembled. “Destiny spelled it out for you; at this rate, you’re not gonna be strong enough to survive the delivery. You won’t even…”

He had to stop himself as tears began to choke him. The very real possibility - or certainty - of losing Peter was simply too much for him to even consider. 

He clears his throat. “If you know how this is going to end...and I believe that you do...then what’s the point?”

Peter finally looked up at him, his eyes painfully bloodshot and watery. A despairing smile twitched at the corners of his pale lips. 

“The point is...he’s ours,” he breathes. “He’s _ ours _, Roman..”

A weight drops in the bottom of Roman’s stomach as he realizes it’s all over. Peter wasn’t going to see reason, he wasn’t going to change his mind. 

Abruptly, Roman shoots back onto his feet and whips around so Peter won’t see the tears he can no longer hold off. 

“Roman… It’s gonna be okay,” Peter says meekly. “And...if it comes to _ that _...you’ll always have a part of me.” 

Roman jerks back around, rushing over to Peter and grabbing him roughly by the shoulders with a wild look in his eyes. 

“I don’t want part of you!! I want _ all _ of you!” Roman hisses. “I want you, _ forever _ ! Wasn’t that part of the deal?? I mean, why the fuck did we get married if you’re just gonna leave me, huh?? You’re willing to let yourself die for this _ thing _ that doesn’t even—”

“_ Baby _ , Roman! It’s a _ baby _ , say it!” Peter cries, prying Roman’s hands from his shoulders and pressing them to his belly. “Feel that? That’s our baby. Please...just _ feel _ him!”

Roman’s hands are pummeled with a barrage of kicks and punches and the feeling makes his stomach turn. This child is strong; so much stronger than Peter. 

In his heart, Roman knew he didn’t want it to be like this. He didn’t _really_ want any harm to come to his own child, but much more than that, he didn’t want to lose Peter. He _couldn’t_. 

And he’d decided weeks ago it didn’t matter what needed to be done. If it would save Peter, whatever it was, so be it. 

Roman tears his hands from Peter’s and quickly stands, heading for the door without a word. He can hear Peter begin to sob behind him, 

“Roman, please…” Peter begs. 

He pauses at the door and stares straight ahead of him, knowing he would crumble into a million pieces if he looked back at Peter. 

“I can’t lose you, Peter,” he says quietly, his voice unsteady, but certain. “I won’t.”

And with that, he swiftly walks out into the hallway and closes the door behind him. 

He lets himself fall into a weeping heap on the floor as the truth finally sets in. Peter is already gone.


	4. The Beautiful Mistakes We Make

Sitting on the corner of Peter’s unkempt bed, Roman watched as Peter animalistically paced from one side of the bedroom to the other. 

This reaction was not far from what he was expecting, not by a long shot, but nevertheless, it filled him with unease. He felt his fingers twitch and uncurl from the stick he held tightly in his hand and he found himself glancing down at it, as if the result had magically changed somehow.

But, it hadn’t. The test still had two lines.

Peter came to an abrupt halt, standing unnaturally straight as he turned to Roman with calculating eyes. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut with exasperation and began pacing again.

“If you’ve got something to say, you might as well say it,” Roman sighed. “Now’s the time.”

Peter stopped, running a rough hand down his face with a groan as he turned back to Roman.

“I just… I don’t understand how this happened,” he said.

“We had  _ sex _ ,” Roman replied dryly.

Peter scoffed with annoyance. “I _ know _ that! I mean...fuck! I thought we were careful.”

“Not careful enough, I guess,” Roman sniffed quietly, closing his fingers back around the positive test with a squeeze. He didn’t think he could look at it anymore.

Peter’s footsteps echoed against the floor as he traipsed back and forth, forceful enough to make the walls of the trailer rattle around them. This was not on his list of “Shit-to-deal-with-today”, and it sure as hell wasn’t what he expected to happen when Roman came over this morning.

He should’ve been tipped off that something was amiss when Roman called first. Roman _ never  _ did that, choosing instead to drop by unannounced on a regular basis, as if his presence should be considered a surprising and welcome gift. Which, if Peter had to be completely honest with himself, it was. 

And since that apparently wasn’t odd enough, the red flag really should’ve started flying when Roman asked Peter if he was alone. Despite who, and what, Roman was, Lynda absolutely adored him. She took advantage of the fact that Roman’s own mother wasn’t much of one and took every chance she could to baby him a little. 

The boy never left Peter’s home without a hot meal in his stomach and some goodies to sneak home with him. Even before she left for town today, she made sure to tell him there was a pan of brownies waiting in the oven. “Waiting for Roman”, she didn’t say, but she didn’t have to. 

Peter could tell that, at first, Roman was wary of all this foreign nurturing, but had since grown quite comfortable with being doted on. Here lately, Peter began wondering if Roman was coming over for Lynda more than he was for him. Not that he was bothered by this. He was perfectly fine with not being in the center of Lynda’s motherly orbit for once. 

Thinking back on it, all of that  _ should _ have been suspicious and he  _ should _ have braced himself for something shocking, but he didn’t. And even if he did, he doubts anything could’ve really ever prepared him for what was to come.

It embarrassed him a bit now, but he had been expecting at least one thing when Roman finally made his way over. It had been at least three weeks since their last time and the itch had been steadily growing. But time was of the essence in those situations, and the two of them had simply been unable to find any. So, Peter thought, the time must’ve been now. 

Once they hung up, Peter hurried himself around, picking up the trailer a bit and taking time to spruce himself up a little until he heard Roman’s arriving knock on the door. But when he answered, his libido promptly plummeted to an unreachable depth as the boys came face to face. 

Though he was standing right in front of him, Roman was looking past him, as if deliberately avoiding Peter’s gaze and made no attempt to actually come inside.

“Hey,” Peter said warily, moving out of the doorway so Roman could come through. Still, he remained planted where he was.

“Hey…” Roman muttered in response, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sport jacket and squeezing his arms tightly to his sides like he was trying to make himself smaller...or disappear completely.

“Well, uh…” Peter drawled with a lazy sweep of his arm. “Come in.”

Hesitantly, Roman stepped inside, but still actively kept his eyes away from Peter’s. This figurative distance Roman was obviously trying to put between them filled Peter with a sense of unease that was almost painful. He’d only recently let himself succumb to his desires after trying to deny them for so long, and now, he wasn’t sure he could ever go back. If Roman had changed his mind, what would he do?

Desperation ran hotly through his veins on the inside, but he maintained a cool exterior. Vulnerability was not something he wore well, and he made a point to never show it. 

He and Roman stood awkwardly in the living room, the silence between them growing heavier by the second. 

“So,” Peter said. “What’s up?”

Finally, Roman looked at him, but the connection didn’t stick. He quickly averted his eyes past Peter again and let out a shuddering sigh.

The next thing Peter knew, Roman was pulling something out of the inside of his coat pocket and shakily handing it over to him. Cautiously taking whatever it was, Peter looked down and, in his hand, was a pregnancy test stick. He didn’t bother looking at the result; he already knew. 

“Wh-what is this?” Peter asked, his voice dangerously uneven.

Roman’s eyes shot down to his feet. “Pretty sure you know what it is…”

Unconsciously, Peter’s head began to rapidly shake from side to side.

“No...” he said, denying the possibility outright.

“Yes,” Roman countered.

“ _ NO _ ,” Peter said more forcefully, and Roman visibly flinched.

“Peter…” Roman’s voice began to quiver. 

It felt as if all the oxygen in Peter’s body left him at once and, in a panic, he shoved the test back at Roman and stormed past him, stomping into the bedroom. He began to roam around the room aimlessly, digging his hands into his tangled mess of hair and tugging mercilessly at the roots, as if a flash of pain would suddenly wake him up from what was surely a dream. 

But here he remained, very much awake and pacing his bedroom like a madman as the news fully seeped into his brain. Roman was pregnant.  _ Pregnant. _ As in having a baby...having  _ his _ baby.

_ We’re fucked, _ Peter thought.  _ We are royally fucked _ . How could they have baby when they were still practically babies themselves? What would his mother say? What would she do? What were  _ they _ going to do?

In his distress, Peter didn’t notice Roman sneak into the room and settle on the edge of his bed, trying with everything in him not to look as hurt as he felt on the inside. But he said nothing, letting Peter fly around in a frenzy for a few minutes as he had done himself when he first found out. 

It was an idea that had been floating around in his mind for a couple of weeks now, though he told himself he was surely crazy for even considering such a possibility. A simple flu bug could’ve very well explained a majority of his strange new symptoms, and for a few days, he chose to believe in that theory and nothing more. 

But when the affliction wasn’t going away, instead growing steadily worse as the days passed, the likelihood of a stomach virus diminished and he was forced to revisit the ludicrous idea.

A few days ago, he ventured to the local pharmacy and stealthily made his way to the “family planning” aisle, trying to act as if he ended up there by accident as he studied the massive plethora of test options. Old school tubes with droppers, plastic sticks with lines or plus signs, digital sticks with actual words and conception dates...he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Did he just pick one of them?  _ All _ of them? Was he sure he even wanted to know?

He ended up picking the brand names he recognized, one box each of digital Clearblue’s, and basic E.P.T.’s. He stuffed both boxes into his oversized coat pockets and hastily snuck out of the store. It was never his intention to actually steal them, but once he’d finally made his decision, he panicked and knew he needed to get out of there as soon as possible. 

Not only that, but he didn’t want anyone to see what he was purchasing. The rumor mill in this town was always in working order and he couldn’t risk drawing that kind of attention...in particular, the attention of his _ mother. _

Each box contained two tests, and he wasted no time taking all four of them once he got home. And though he hoped, even prayed that his suspicions were wrong as he took them one by one, every single test came up positive.

_ Positive. _

For the next few days, he purposely avoided any contact with Peter. He could barely process the news himself, much less break it to anyone else. A bombshell of this magnitude needed to be broken gently, and he had been in no condition to make good on that just yet. 

Perhaps even more than that, he was afraid of how Peter would take it. Would he be angry? Would he resent Roman for ruining their lives? Would he  _ blame _ him? Would he leave? 

And what would Roman do if he did?

He was forced to re-examine these questions as he watched Peter now, in the full-throws of shock, and he felt anxiety burning in the pit of his stomach. What a mess he’s made; he regrets coming here at all.

Finally, Peter whips around and looks at Roman with wild, desperate eyes. 

“So… You’re sure?  _ Absolutely sure _ ?” Peter pants. “I mean, those tests… They can be wrong, right?”

“I mean, yeah,” Roman curtly nods. “I just don’t see how four tests could be wrong.”

With that, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the other three tests, holding up all four in one hand for Peter to see. Peter’s face immediately pales to the color of tepid milk.

Roman then clenches his fist around the tests and looks down at his feet, his cheeks turning pink. “I  _ had _ to be sure,” he says quietly. 

“Fuck…” Peter groans, running a rough hand down his face.

Roman swallows hard, trying to force down the sob that’s beginning to bubble up in his throat.

“Wh-what are we gonna do??” Peter cries, resuming his back and forth pace of the room. “We can’t... _ do  _ this, Roman; we can’t have a kid!”

Roman bristles against the remark. “Seems like a conversation we should’ve had  _ before _ you fucked me.”

Peter doesn’t even hear Roman speak, spiraling further into his own dismay . “God, this wasn’t supposed to happen!” he laments. “Shit! What the  _ fuck _ am I supposed to do now??” 

Anger then sparks inside Roman, and he lets himself feel it full force as he watches Peter’s selfish display. This wasn’t all his fault; Peter played an equal part in creating this mess. How dare he make him feel so guilty, so wrong. 

Before he gives the action much thought, he quickly shoots up from the bed, and forcefully throws the test sticks onto the ground. Peter stops at the sudden noise and turns to Roman with alarmed confusion. Stoically, Roman stuffs a hand in either coat pocket and sharply sniffs away the tears coming to his eyes.

“How about I make it easy for you?” he spits, pushing past Peter and waltzing out of the room.

It takes Peter’s brain a couple of seconds to catch up with what’s just happened. Roman’s words seem to ricochet from one side of his brain to the other, and the weight of them sink with a burning acidity in his stomach. 

“Wait a minute,” Peter calls, scurrying out of his bedroom and following Roman, who is just a couple of feet away from stomping out the front door. “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

Roman stops rigidly in his tracks, but doesn’t so much as glance in Peter’s direction. “Just don’t even worry about it,” he says, his voice practically dripping with anger.

“Don’t worry about it?? What are you.. _ .talking about _ ??” Peter exasperates. 

Then, Roman shoots him with a look so sharp, Peter can almost literally feel Roman’s resentment piercing into his skin. 

“‘We can’t do this, Roman’,” Roman says, maliciously mimicking Peter’s previously panicked tone. “‘We can’t have a kid!’ Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

Closing his eyes, Peter let out a heavy sigh as a fiery shame grows from his neck and fills in his cheeks. “Roman…”

“You want me to get rid of it, right?” Roman sneers. “That’s what you want?”

“No! That’s not… I  _ never _ said that!” Peter argues.

“You basically fucking did!”

“Oh, Christ, Roman….” Peter roughly pinches the bridge of his nose and unconsciously begins pacing again.

With that, Roman whips back around and lunges for the handle of the front door, swiftly tearing it open. Peter throws out a hand and catches Roman’s wrist before he has a chance to step foot outside.

“Hey!” Peter snaps. “No, you don’t get to do that. You’re gonna talk to me!”

Roman scoffs yanking his wrist out of Peter’s grip, but not making another move for the door.

“I’ve been talking to you, asshole. It’s not my problem you weren’t fucking listening.”

Peter glares at Roman, irritated. “Am I not allowed to have  _ five fucking minutes _ to freak out here? I mean, pardon me, but I just found out that my entire life is about to come crashing down around me and--”

It’s then that he actually hears himself, and he immediately shuts up. Though he tries to save face, Roman’s expression immediately darkens, his demeanor revealing itself to be much more sad than angry. Peter inwardly curses himself; this is what Roman was talking about, this is why he’s so upset, among other things. And Peter couldn’t rightfully blame him.

Peter puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Alright… I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ . Okay? I never said I wanted you to...get rid of it.”

Roman glances up at him then, his shining eyes hard with the demand for an honest answer. “But do you?”

The air depletes from Peter’s lungs at the question, and he averts Roman’s gaze as he contemplates it. It was a question with many layers to it. The superficial answer, the one that lied just along the surface, was the one that most teenage guys in this predicament would have:  _ Yes. Get rid of it. I’m too young for a kid. I have a life to live. _

But things felt different underneath, the circumstances not seeming nearly as dire as he considered the alternative. What if they  _ did _ have this child? What would it mean for them, not just individually, but as a whole? He and Roman weren’t really anything to begin with, at least he didn’t think they were. 

They were friends...and, obviously, occasional fuck-buddies. Sure, Peter would like to be more than that, but… He had no idea how Roman really felt. And now was not the time to open that can of worms.

Or, maybe, it was the perfect time. Something was at stake now, something  _ major _ . And they needed to get their heads straight, their wires uncrossed. 

But first, an even bigger question lingered unanswered between the two of them, and Peter felt something in his stomach clench as Roman’s eyes bore into him.

Finally, Peter sighs, dejected. “I… I don’t know.”

Roman bites the inside of his cheek and forces his gaze away, peering out the screen door into the midday sunlight. He could blame the sudden sting of tears in his eyes on the brightness of the outside, but why lie to himself? He wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that “I don’t know” really meant. 

Though he himself suffered from the same panic-laden uncertainty just a few days ago, he’d ultimately made up his mind soon after that he wanted to have the baby. He’d considered all of the alternatives, and tackling parenthood was, surprisingly, the only one that felt right. It was a terrifying notion, yes, but the thought of giving up or...getting rid of his own child was much more unbearable.

It wasn’t necessarily an easy decision. He was all too aware of  _ what _ he came from, and he wasn’t immune to the fear of turning into the monster his own mother was. But at the same time, he remembered his father; a good, noble, loving man. And somehow, that thought comforted him and gave him at least a sliver of hope. He could be like his father, he  _ would  _ be. He’d be anything but like  _ her _ . 

He knew, realistically, there was a chance Peter would not want the same thing, and he felt that he had at least partially prepared himself for that. But now, he was coming to realize how much hope he had put on the possibility that Peter would want the baby as much as he did. He could feel that hope crumbling inside little by little with every second that Peter remained silent before him. It nearly made him sick.

“You don’t know…” Roman repeats just above a whisper, biting down on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. 

“Well, it's kind of a... _ huge _ fucking decision, Roman, I can’t just…” Peter starts, running a hand through his messy hair. He sighs, looking at Roman and immediately seeing the hurt in his face that he’s trying to mask. It breaks his heart. 

“I get it,” Roman says, dejected. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Peter gives him a narrow look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Roman turns toward him, but makes a valiant effort to not meet his eyes. “I mean, I just...waltz in here and tell you I’m pregnant and expect you to be okay with it? No… That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Roman—”

“You’re right, you know?” Roman cuts him off. “We have no business having a kid;  _ we’re _ kids. It’s stupid to even think we could maybe…”

His voice trails off and, almost immediately, Peter can see him start to shut down. Roman could so easily become his own despairing pit. He had no qualms venturing into that inner darkness, empty and bottomless as it was loathsome, and Peter knew all too well the herculean effort it would take to pull him back out. He couldn’t let him go there now, not with so much on the line. 

“Maybe we could what, Roman?” Peter says softly. 

Roman’s eyes float to the ground, his shoulders cowering inward, and in that instant, Peter knows what Roman truly wants.

“You want to keep it, don’t you?” Peter says. “You wanna...raise it, be a family.”

Roman scoffs and gives a soft roll of his eyes. “‘Family’?...no.”

“No?” Peter raises an eyebrow. 

“I know that can’t happen,” Roman answers stiffly, fixing Peter with a steely look. 

“And why not?” Peter inquires, fighting to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

A hard blush creeps into Roman’s cheeks and he keeps his gaze planted onto the trailer’s dirty, carpeted floor. He opens his mouth, but an incredulous huff of breath replaces his words and he shakes his head. 

“What?” Peter presses, anxiety beginning to buzz in his chest like an angry hornet. 

“I… I don’t even know what we’re doing here, Peter,” Roman finally admits. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean! We’re just  _ fucking _ , right?!” Roman shouts. He finally looks up, an unmistakable sheen of tears glazing his eyes as they settle on Peter. “How do you make a ‘family’ out of that, huh? Like I want you to just stick around and  _ tolerate _ me for the rest of our lives because we fucked up and I got pregnant?”

“I don’t tolerate you, Roman--”

“Well, I know you don’t  _ love _ me!”

_ “You don’t know shit!” _

The outburst is met with a mutually stunned silence, the two of them now staring at each other uneasily. An unbearable, prickling heat quickly fills Peter’s cheeks as the realization of what he just said seeps in. What’s worse is he didn’t even think about his words before he said them; they just came out of him instinctively, with impenetrable conviction. 

He eyes Roman’s expression with laser focus, searching for even the slightest sign of discomfort or, at the very worst, disgust. But all he sees in front of him is a scared boy, peering down at him with wide, confused eyes that are practically begging Peter to tell him what he  _ thinks _ he’s telling him. 

“What are you saying?” Roman’s soft voice nearly squeaks.

But Peter can’t speak; he doesn’t have a single word in his head right now that would even begin to explain what he was thinking or feeling. There was too much happening at once and it was overwhelming and terrifying and he wanted nothing more than for a crater to open up in the floor beneath him and swallow him whole. 

He knew, if such a scenario were possible, that Roman would immediately jump in after him and do everything humanly possible to pull him back out, to save him. The image at first humored him, but he sobered quickly as he realized it answered the question about himself he’d been too afraid to ask.

He’d  _ want _ Roman to follow him...just like he wanted to follow Roman, anywhere and through anything.

Suddenly, Peter rushed toward Roman, closing the space between them that grew more alienating by the second. He cupped Roman’s face in his hands and placed a hard kiss on his lips, feeling Roman melt into him almost immediately. Roman wrapped his arms around Peter’s torso and pulled him so close, it felt as if they were now joined as one person; two souls possessing the same entity.

When the kiss broke, both boys let out a slight gasp for air, and their eyes met, holding one another to the spot. Not a single word passed between them, but words weren’t necessary. 

Eventually, a smile pulled at the corners of Roman’s mouth and he leaned his face back into Peter’s, just barely grazing the other boy’s lips with his own.

“I love you, too…” 

At that, Peter smiled and pressed his forehead against Roman’s, taking in his warmth and his tantalizing scent. Yes, he loved Roman. And now, he knew Roman loved him back, and he realized it was everything he would ever want or need. Roman  _ was _ everything.

“And I want to have this baby.”

Peter remained silent for a moment, letting himself feel the magnitude of the choice they were facing. But suddenly, the thought of impending fatherhood didn’t seem so daunting; not with the boy he loved standing so firmly at his side. Maybe they could do it. Maybe they could actually be a family. 

“I know…” Peter replies. 

He hears Roman take in a sharp breath. “But do you?”

Peter lifts his forehead from Roman’s and looks up into his green eyes, cautiously resting a gentle hand on the terrain of Roman’s still flat stomach. Roman eagerly places his hand on top of Peter’s, his expression twisting anxiously, hopefully. 

“Yeah,” Peter says with a newfound surety. “I do.”

  
  



End file.
